


Hallelujah

by icyblast



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cousin Incest, Cousincest, F/M, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icyblast/pseuds/icyblast
Summary: She doesn’t classify James as her favourite cousin. He’s entirely something else. She just doesn’t know how to describe it, so she just lets it go.





	

* * *

 

_i._

She is not to be called a social butterfly. She, in fact, is very shy. She can’t hold someone’s gaze for long. She only raises her voice at class and whenever she’s talking with professors, she actually manages to smile, joke and seems blithe. Albus teases her about it, mentions how uptight she seems to other housemates and how she’s gained the teacher’s pet title once again. Five years in a row. But that’s the environment she feels safe. That’s why she’s mostly found at the library.

She knows she has a problem. She just doesn’t want to face it. She is a failure to Gryffindor. Though James wouldn’t let her believe that. Even though there’s an age difference between them, they seem to get along just fine. They joke together, laugh and some very rare times Rose helps him with pranks whenever they get to see each other.  

Her hands shake under the weight of all the library books she carries. She is a witch, but she likes the feeling of old, rusty covers under her palms. Nobody takes notice of her. The librarian is so used to her that she doesn’t complain when she takes two more books than the authorized. But the witch is sure the librarian barely cares about the books.

She’s meters away from her usual spot—the finest corner in the library, with a window that shows her just how beautiful the day is. But something happens, and she trips with her own robe. She feels the weight of the books pull her to the ground. She knows she’s about to fall and make the most thunderous of sounds. She will make a fool of herself but —someone, somehow, manages to grab her from the front, not allowing the books to fall. She stabilizes herself and lowers the tower of books in front of her to thank whoever saved her.

The guy in front of her is someone she has met. Not personally, but it’s the first Hogwarts student she remembers from her first day, not counting her cousins. She also remembers who his father is and what her father said and she wants to laugh because no way in hell she would ever consider marrying someone with whom she has never, in her life, talked to.

Besides, the guy is just giving her this annoying look. As if she had done _something_ to him, which she doesn’t remember because she barely talks to other non-Gryffindors? Hell, she barely talks to Gryffindors.

She would imagine the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin would be done after the war, but that’s not the case. It’s still present, just not as dangerous as before, and not as _frequent_. So when she hears the first words Scorpius Malfoy has ever spoken to her, “You should really stop with all this book carrying thing. You’re a witch, aren’t you?”, she scowls.

She is bold. But prefers not to be. She has the temper of her father and some say the brains of her mother. She feels her ears hot, as well as her neck; her cheeks must be flaming. But her scowl is still there. Her glare, strong as ever. She manages not to burst. The library is the last place she would want to make a scene.

With a condescending look, her right eyebrow raised in a perfect arch and her lips slightly pursed in a smirk she scoffs, “Thanks for the not wanted reminder”.

She storms off after that, barely giving him a second glance and sits at her beloved table. She hears some feet shuffling away and she sighs, relieved that no drama came out of that. She organizes her books, putting the ones that will be of immediate use to her besides her roll of parchment. The sugar quill makes her mouth water and she chastises herself. Sometimes, the Weasley gene is stronger. Though she has sugar quills to spare—or eat, in this case.

It’s finals weeks, though. Next year she’s going to take her NEWTs and her fate will be decided. She knows what she wants to do, but magical history is not her forte. It doesn’t matter. After this week, it _will_ be.

* * *

She doesn’t realise when she fell asleep. She just opens her eyes and jumps a little, startled to be sleeping in the library, of all places, honestly! She covers a yawn with her left hand while realising how sticky her other hand is. There’s no one else in the library besides the rude Malfoy boy. She chews at the inside of her cheek, making a grimace because she doesn’t know how many people saw her like that.

The good thing, however, is that she review more than the half of this course of History of Magic. She lets that knowledge give her some confidence. How hard can Goblin Wars be? Not much. But they can be boring as hell.

She checks out of the library, not missing the grumbling her stomach is making. She guesses the elves won’t be offended to have someone to give some left overs from dinner. And she absolutely loves being pampered by them despite what her mother tells her.

* * *

Something about her being _her_ is how oblivious she seems to the most obvious things. She analyses things and tries to come up with the most logical solution, but sometimes her feelings intercept something in her brain and suddenly she’s not logical anymore and her behaviour changes.

She laughs with Albus and Molly, her favourite cousins ever and it doesn’t have anything to do about them being the only cousins in her course. Because there’s James—who’s always there for her, who makes her scowl disappear with that sly smile of his, who’s eyes always make contact with hers whenever someone starts rambling about something not necessarily funny.

She doesn’t classify James as her favourite cousin. He’s entirely something else. She just doesn’t know how to describe it, so she just lets it go.

* * *

Christmas break arrives and she has not decided what she wants to do. She obviously has plans to study. But will she study at Hogwarts, stay to appreciate the beautiful Christmas decorations and eat everything she can at the feast? Not really. She loves being at Hogwarts in Christmas, but this time she will feel lonely because she’s going to be the only Weasley at school. Even her brother, Hogwarts lover, is not staying. Something unheard of, for we have populated half this school for centuries, would say James. Her parents are doing a business trip to India. Something she doesn’t believe and neither does Hugo —they don’t even work in the same field! She’s glad for them; they will surely enjoy the trip and all their marital problems will be forgotten.

(She hopes, because she isn’t sure how she will face their separation, if it comes down to it.)

So, Hogwarts it’s forgotten for the holidays. She spends time at the Burrow. Hugo, for his part, will not be staying for the first days and will come back on Christmas Eve. He wants to spend time with his muggle-born friend to try out his new camera without grandpa making a fuss out of it. That’s something she mustn’t tell to a living soul or he’ll show everyone a copy of her singing in the shower.

As always, the Burrow is packed. All her cousins are staying. The house is filled with happiness and warmth. Her parents are missed, but so are Teddy and Victoire who decided to elope a few years ago and are now living in the moment, sending postcards and letters the muggle way, to keep the family from worrying. Had Rose been asked if she expected them to do something so romantic (or rash depending who you ask), she’d have said no. But then again, she isn’t the most perceptive when it comes to feelings.

Despite the warmness the Burrow makes her feel, she’s on edge. Grandma Molly won’t stop shouting for Roxanne to stop pestering the gnomes; _you’re over twenty and should be concerning herself with the turkey stuffing!_ Her cousin, not to everyone’s surprise, storms into the kitchen yelling back, “I told you to call me Anne, Grandma!”

Someone laughs at her side and her lips don’t waste a second to smile back at James. They don’t exchange pleasantries. They just laugh at the scene before them. Anne’s the best cook in the family, after Grandma of course, but she has the attention span of some weird creature Lorcan once mentioned her. So whenever there’s a family reunion, both Anne and Grandma control the kitchen to out-top the last reunion meal. The combination usually has two outcomes that cannot occur without the other: they manage to surpass themselves and also scream at each other nonstop.

In this exact moment, they are arguing over the salad and some potatoes; something Rose doesn’t care and doesn’t even understand. As if on cue, Rose and James turn to each other.

“Let’s get out of here—” he starts.

“—before they ask for help” she finishes.

They find Albus with Molly and the Scamander twins and some unknown girl they’ve never seen before. Well, at least her.

“Ay-up, Rose Weasley!” Lorcan beamed from the other side of the room. “Come meet this outstanding young lady here!”

She stifles her laughter. Lorcan is _ridiculous_.

They meet the girl and Rose is surprised, but not at the same time, that she hasn’t noticed her in most of her classes. She shares most of them with Ravenclaws. She is a pleasant girl; but she immediately realises that ridiculous is not a word that describes Lorcan anymore. This girl tops everything Lorcan ever says that can be classified as ridiculous. Not surprising, they get along too well. Too surprising that she hadn’t noticed her before! She is too nice and makes hand movements to match her words (sometimes they don’t even match and just moves them for the sake of moving them), and it’s kind of funny. Then, Albus makes an unpleasant remark about last’s year Quidditch Cup loss to Ravenclaw and she remembers.

“Oh, you’re the Ravenclaw seeker, aren’t you!” but what she was meaning to say is, “You’re the one Albus is always rambling about!” For her cousin’s sake, she doesn’t bring up the accident and instead focus on her incredible Quidditch skills, “I never got to tell you how much I enjoyed that last game. Honest, despite the result, I think you guys played fairly well and your bloody moves were absolutely amazing.”

“Yeah, Albus here just won’t shut up about how you did it with one broken wrist” adds James and Albus’ face tints with the faintest of blushes.

“Because Rose’s aim it’s uncanny” he defends himself.

Before both start embarrassing themselves more, or rather, Albus says something he will regret (because he _will_ ), Rose confesses, “Sorry about the broken wrist, by the way.”

“No problem” Mary replies between giggles, “I got lucky Lorcan was there. I really don’t like going to the Hospital Wing” she shrugs.

“Oh” Albus chimes in, “have a problem with aunt Hannah as the healer?”

“No, it’s just that I don’t like hospitals…” Mary voice wavers at the end, making a grimace at Albus tone.

Lysander, the quiet one, steps in with his not so flamboyant personality to remind everyone why they’ve come today.

“Some guys are throwing a party at midnight, tomorrow. I know you Weasley people like to spend it with the family and we don’t judge you—”

“Lysander, you and your family _always_ show up for dinner so I don’t get why—” Lysander holds his hands up to shut Albus up and she can hear James snickering.

“For the sake of _me_ , let me have this moment, all right?”

“I don’t think I care that much, you—”

“Anyway,” Lysander cuts him again, “it’d be nice if you’d join us at the bar.”

Rose raises her brow. Lorcan sees her reaction and laughs, “Don’t worry, drinking is not a requirement for the entrance. You should just grow a few inches taller.” He throws her an open smile and winks at her.

“Where’s Lucy? Aren’t you attached by the hip? I like you better when she’s here to restrain you” she retorts.

“She’s in the backyard, playing Quidditch” he shrugs, not minding her.

* * *

It’s been a while, but her broom feels exactly like it felt a month ago and the bat in her hand doesn’t feel heavy. The sun is about to set, in an hour or two, but it’s enough time to play a quick Quidditch match. It doesn’t matter if Albus just wants revenge.

She plays on James’ side as always. The Potter’s, to be exact, because Lily and Albus are on the team also, with Fred and it’d be nice to have another team member, but to the her surprise (and the Scamander’s), this year the Weasleys are not enough to complete a team.

In the end, she just wants to have fun. She does, as well Albus. Because they win, that is. She doesn’t notice how James’ warm hand stays at her lower back after they end their celebration hug or how Lorcan smirks at them. She feels exhilarated. Mary comments on how different she is compared to the classroom and Rose laughs, not caring.

* * *

Her brother is received with a punch from Lily, who whispers furiously at him, “What’s your bloody problem? Why didn’t you tell me you were staying at Nate’s house?”

They continue bickering and she hears their voices rise.

“You had better not told him anything!”

“Of course not! Why would I talk about _feelings_ when I’m in _muggle_ London! Honestly, woman you— _ow_!”

Rose doesn’t have to be a genius to know the type of conversation they’re having. Of that, she is glad. She’s not completely useless in that type of thing.

Just a bit.

* * *

The dinner comes out nice. The turkey stuffing that made the cooks almost tear their hair apart turned out amazingly tasty. They exchange gifts, but promise not to open them until Christmas morning. But she already hears Hugo unwrapping, or more like tearing up one gift wrapping.

She has more presents than she can carry in her arms so she goes upstairs, to the room she shares with Molly. She places them in her bunk and when she closes the door, ready to go downstairs, she almost collides with James.

They’re too close. James smells like cinnamon and firewhiskey. He has a charming and whimsical smile on his lips. She just stares at him, expectantly, with her back touching the door and her eyes darting to the stairs not so far way from the too dark hallway they stand in.

“Better clean up good, Rose. Aunt Luna convinced Grandma, so the oldest are going and I bet mom’s gonna cover for you, Al and Molly” he leaves, not without throwing a wink at her.

She wonders why her chest feels a little bit heavy and why her whole body feels hot.

* * *

The pub is not what she expected. She can’t fathom why would anyone want to party on a grimy, _filthy_ place likes this. She’s not complaining, though.  She’s having fun dancing with Molly. There are some classmates around them who stare at her. At first, she feels uncomfortable; her hair down was a good choice, she has the option of covering half her face with her long bangs and her frizzy hair does help too. The skin-tight dress, however, doesn’t make anything to make her comfortable now. She once felt sexy, confident even. Now she hears some Hufflepuff whisper about her and can feel the anxiety crawling up to her. Weren’t they supposed to be the _nice_ ones?

She feels something being thrown at her hand. Molly grins at her and shouts her something she can’t quite hear due to the loud music. She guesses it’s something to cheer her up, so she thanks her. Actually, yells her thanks and gulps down the entire drink.

It’s not long before she figures what the strange glass contained: firewhiskey. Her throat hurts and she coughs a little bit. Her eyes are watering and Molly laughs at her.

“What the bloody hell?” she wants to muster but her throat is sore. She is impressed that the hosts managed to make the refill enchantment but she figures she’s not going to make a use of it after the this.

They dance their way out of the crowd; end up crashing with Albus who’s at the bar with Lorcan and other wizards and witches whom she might’ve had met once.

She marbles at the place, because people of all houses are there and not only the ones actually in Hogwarts, but also the graduates. Some examples are the boys in front of her. The twins grin at her and simultaneously arch their left brow when they see her with a cup on her hand.

“Glad you decided to join the grown up table” Lorcan hollers over the music and some laugh.

She wants to make some good, sassy remark, but she just rolls her eyes, slowly drinks from her cup trying not to cough this time and shrugs her bare shoulders in an enticing way, while pursing her lips in a wicked way.

“Not tonight, I suppose” she darts out with Molly behind her back. When they’re far away, they start giggling. Molly starts babbling about Lorcan’s face and —they know alcohol had a big part in her stunt but she can’t believe she actually did something daring (can it be classified as that? She doesn’t care, she’s never done anything like that before!), not socially awkward in front of other people.

This alcohol thing works just fine, she decides.

And lets herself loose.

* * *

Somehow, between one o’clock and one thirty, she loses Molly.  The mass is bigger than when they arrive and somehow, the red mane of her cousin is not recognisable anymore; the lightning changes, making everyone’s hair have different hues. She cannot help herself, she begins to worry something happened to her.

The alcohol is still in her body, making her head buzz and her steps are a bit unsteady. Thankfully, her words aren’t quite slurry. She isn’t drunk enough, however, to stumble across the floor.

A second later, she is definitely sure she _is_ drunk enough to stumble.

It just seems to be destiny, playing some dirty tricks with her because she would rather be in some else’s arms instead of the prick who’s still is holding her. His body is stiff and his heartbeat is rapidly increasing. She just wants to be away from him.

“Can you please get your hands off me?” she barely registers the hands in her hips, but when her eyes clash with the grey of his she cringes.

It must be her imagination, because he actually seems hurt. And she’s not a bitch, so what was that coming out of her mouth? His hand reaches for her, twitches, like he wants to… do something and then he lowers it. They maintain eye contact for a moment before his eyes darken and, is he looking at her lips or her cleavage? She can’t tell.

His next words surprise her. Not because of them, you hear them all the time at parties, but the _way_ he said them.

He approaches her until she is facing his chest. She can feel his warmth and his slow, even breathing despite all the adrenaline from before. He lowers his mouth to her ear and whispers, making her spine tingle in an unpleasant way—she never imagined something like this would happen to her, with him of all people!

She should be experiencing this with someone else. Not with someone whose first words to her were insulting!

“Would you like to dance?”

She’s fuming. She should be with someone else. And it’s not Molly. It’s—

“No, thank you” she whispers back, alarmed by the almost thought she had and turns before she can see his defeated face. If she thought before she wasn’t a bitch, she has now realised she has the potential to be one.

* * *

She has finally realised who she wants.

She just doesn’t want to admit it’s him she wants.

It’s just wrong.

* * *

She spends the rest of the party in some dark hallway. She thinks it directs to the lavatory, but she really can’t tell. No one seems to use it, though. So it’s the perfect hideaway.

She sighs. Of all things she wanted to happen tonight (have fun without regrets, mainly), none of them became true.

She still can’t believe Malfoy would do that to her. He’s never spoken a word to her and when he did, he insults her and then— then he just flirts with her? In what twisted world would she even imagine that? In what world would she _accept_ the offer? And no, it wasn’t because he’s a Malfoy.

But he doesn’t know that.

She groans and slides down the wall, hugging her knees while hiding her face. She’ll have to explain. She must, or else the poor guy will —she doesn’t know what he’ll do, but he must know prejudice was _not_ a factor for the rejection.

She just waits a moment to collect herself. She swallows the lump at her throat, and stands up. Not very quickly, but still quickly enough to make her dizzy. She reaches for something to hold on and finds an arm. She steers away from it, cautious.

“Hey, slow down or you’ll throw up on my shoes!”

She recognises the voice. She smiles, but not really. She doesn’t wants to face him now.

“James, what are you doing here?” she cringes at the sound her voice, rough from the firewhiskey.

James lets out a low whistle and uses a hand to stabilize her. Reluctantly, she grabs his firm arm to anchor herself. It works, but at the same time it doesn’t. She feels the heat emanating from his skin, even though he’s wearing a cool leather jacket. She wants to squeeze, just to see how it feels. She doesn’t. She feels hot. She feels dizzy and it’s not from the alcohol. In fact, she thinks she has just sobered up.

“I heard some groaning and wanted be a buzz killer” he answer nonchalantly, but there’s an edge to his voice and Rose wonders.

“Well, sorry. It’s just me, complaining.”

She doesn’t know what else to say.

He, too, seems to be lost because his next words startle her.

“I saw you with Malfoy. When you disappear, I thought you and he, well—” his voice wavers. She can’t see very well, but she can feel him. She can feel his figure in front of her, towering over her. His hand is not in her arm anymore and her hand has travelled to his shoulder. She feels him grip at her hip and, another lump forms at her throat; although for entirely non-alcoholic reasons.

“Then I heard a groan, sounded like you, so I had to know if you were, you know, snogging him, so I could—”

“You recognised me by my groaning?” She manages to interrupt him. Incredulous, that’s what she first thinks, but then, imagines all the possibilities and her heart races, so, so much she can hear it pounding in her ears.

He doesn’t responds after a few minutes. His hands tenses, she feels him clench and unclench his fingers at her hips and it drives her crazy. She shouldn’t want something to happen. She shouldn’t step closer to him either.  

“You groan an indecent amount of times. It’s no good for a young man’s blood pressure,” he finally whispers. She can feel the guilt he’s trying to disguise with mockery.

“You’re my cousin,” Rose mutters more to herself than him.

But he doesn’t notice. Instead, he lets out a shaky breath, trying to fix whatever they are discussing but shouldn’t be, “I wasn’t talking about me.”

She can’t find a reason. She tries, she really does. Common sense doesn’t seem to exist in that exact moment. Her mouth is disconnected to her brain and her body seems to be reacting to James’ alluring voice, so when she says, “Wishful thinking, I guess”, she ceases to dance around the idea of her, Rose Weasley, being attracted to him, his cousin. And just settles. Accepts it.

She’s always done things she later regrets how she’s done it. Should’ve done this or that better? There had been few times where she’s regretted doing the thing at all.

When she closes the distance between them and presses herself against him, she knows this is something she might regret. She doesn’t care. Her body is on fire and the heat of his body, of his face, in her hands can’t compare to the dreadful feeling she’s going to have when they’re done —if they _do_ something.

They meet halfway. She can later think about the consequences. But in that instant she just wants to feel. Their lips collide in a drunkenly way, their teeth clash and in that awkward moment, she’s about to pull out. But James’ hand finds his way to the back of her neck and caresses her, making her tremble. He nips at her lower lip and she grants him access, groaning at the new sensation. He chuckles. She yanks at his hair as a reprimand and he makes a noise at the back of his throat.

Soon, her back is against the filthy wall. She doesn’t care, though. All she can think about is James, James, James and his lips. Him. And his hot, open-mouthed kisses on her neck. She whimpers and arches her back when he reaches the back of her ear. She almost cries out when he leaves his mark on her, but refrains herself because _hot damn_ , if he can do this to her with just his mouth on her neck, what can he do with his mouth in other places? The mere thought sends shivers to her core and she buckles her hips against him at the same time he bites hard her earlobe.

She can feel him. His length, long and hard. She hooks one leg at his hip, not caring if her dress rides up. James certainly doesn’t. He, in fact, starts caressing her inner thigh and somehow manages to put a distance between her dress and her skin. Her hand makes her way to his arm to steady herself and the other one is clasped by James in a firm grip above her head.

“Take off your jacket,” she hisses, feeling him once again against her and she is one step away from rubbing herself against him in the most desperate way. James nods. A second later the jacket is gone.

That sole movement gave her the freedom to roam his still covered chest with her hands. Somehow, she thought that with the jacket, the other pieces of clothing would vanish. That’s how clouded her mind is. It doesn’t matter. His shirt is thin enough, she can outline the hard lines of his abdomen, though it isn’t enough. She pulls it and pauses a second before placing her hands on his bare skin. It’s hot. It clashes with her cold hands, making James softly groan. She doesn’t waste any more time and starts roaming, claiming it with her nails.

The kiss becomes a little bit more aggressive after that. They start grinding more until Rose is practically riding his thigh with James holding her a little bit higher. She sighs, _moans_ , whimpers to his ear, begging for something she can’t quite name at the moment.

“ _I can’t_ ,” she starts chanting into his ear, “ _I can’t, I can’t…_ ”

Her hands abandon his chest and go back to his hair, pulling it with more urgency, dragging her nails against his scalp.

“You can’t what, Rose?” he whispers between ragged breaths.

She grinds once more, “ _I don’t know_ ,” she moans, throwing her head back. And now she knows she is desperate.

“S’all right,” he continues, “it feels good, huh?” He kisses once again her neck —did it felt like this last time? Like she could explode and still feel like wanting more?

“Yes, James” she breathes.

James moans.

“You don’t have any idea —what I did all those years, how I’ve felt all these years,” he confesses and Rose has a hard time straightening the words in her mind, almost impossible with what he’s doing now to her center. His fingers stretches her, something so unfamiliar to her and yet so, so, so alluring.

“Is that so?” she manages to ask.

“Aye. All those cold showers, sleepless nights. It made me feel dirty,” he spits and that makes her laugh.

“And here I thought that grinding my cousin against an unsanitary wall was dirty.” She grinds her hips as if to mark her point.

“I don’t care you’re my cousin. Not anymore.” He sentences while deftly moving circles against her clit.

“Good. I don’t think I ever cared.” She shuts her mouth after that, presses more to his hand and bites hard her lower lip. It’s almost there, she can _feel_ it. Her shallow breaths make him harder and James takes that as a sign she is closer to the edge.

A pinch, a hard rub and another grind makes Rose cry out, the sound muffled by the music still playing.

* * *

After some sleep at The Burrow, Rose wakes up with sore legs, her hands down her panties and glad Molly isn’t awake yet.

James is nowhere to be seen for the next hours.

Rose is relieved.


End file.
